In this digital sprawl where words fly,
A message boards to the sky.
We're all just sparks in the night,
Flickering thoughts, fleeting light.

Echoes of voices, strong and weak,
In the forums we seek.
To build or to tear down,
Each line a play for crown.

But what's left when the fire's spent?
When the words have been bent?
Burnt pages and ash dreams lie,
Underneath where once we'd climb.

We talk till our throats are dry,
Of revolutions, of why.
Yet it’s actions that tell the truth,
Not just hollow streams of youth.

So here’s to those who act,
Who rise from the stack.
They light up the dark with deeds,
Not just words and schemes.

Burnt pages may linger long,
Ashen dreams might sing a wrong.
But in the dawn, what stands?
Is the work we've planned.

-- RALLY
"Discipline is how we respect each other."
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